Simon Rowe has recently released a second collection of short stories to follow his volume Good Night Papa published in 2017. The author, who is from New Zealand, has lived in Himeji, Japan for most of his adult life, and brings us eight stories from Japan and eight from other countries including Hong Kong, Philippines, Cambodia, Malaysia, France, Austria, Australia and New Zealand.
From hit-men to convenience store clerks and shipping agents, Rowe covers the gamut of jobs and employees in his stories, but focuses mostly on lonely individuals pursuing more meaning to life, a goal often fulfilled in the most unexpected ways: A wraith visits a man seeking an answer to wild boars stealing his vegetables, a young salary man is confronted by another perusing his same dream of travel over the Inland Sea as depicted on a travel poster, and, in one of the author’s many delightful incongruities, a young woman in Paris escapes death by coming down with brain cancer.
Most of these tales are about normal people meeting with extraordinary, but believable, circumstances. While Rowe’s story-telling is polished and his prose descriptive, what keeps the reader turning the page is the authenticity of his story lines and his ability to challenge the reader with the question: How is the protagonist going to get out of this one? The answer is: With surprising twists and endings that make you chuckle.
You won’t find down-and-out, desperate characters in this collection; instead you’ll find people looking out for each other, some trying to extend good-will and others determining to make their dreams come true. You know, people like you and me.
(Click “more” below to see the Show Notes, which include an encapsulated version of the interview). To subscribe to the Books on Asia Podcast, click here.
Here at Books on Asia, we’re always looking for the next great read. Here are our March picks for new and upcoming releases on Japan or by Japanese authors:
Bullet Train, by Kotaro Isaka (Transl. Sam Malissa)
In Bullet Train (Harvill Secker March 2021) five killers find themselves on a bullet train from Tokyo competing for a suitcase full of money. Who will make it to the last station? An original and propulsive thriller from a Japanese bestseller. Read Renae’s review of the book.
2. Three Streets by Yoko Tawada (Transl. Margaret Mitsutani)
In 3 Streets (New Directions, June 2021) each of these stories glows, and opens up into new dimensions of the work of the magisterial author of The Emissary and Memoirs of a Polar Bear.
3. Tokyo Junkie: 60 Years of Bright Lights and Back Alleys…and Baseball
Tokyo Junkie is a memoir that plays out over the dramatic 60-year growth of the megacity Tokyo, once a dark, fetid backwater and now the most populous, sophisticated, and safe urban capital in the world. Read our review.
4. Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro
Klara and the Sun, (Knopf March, 2021) the first novel by Kazuo Ishiguro since he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. Read our review.
5. Noh as Living Art: Inside Japan’s Oldest Theatrical Tradition by Yasuda Noboru (Transl. Kawamoto Nozomu)
Noh is recognized as one of the oldest and greatest theatrical traditions in the world and inspired generations of writers and scholars in Japan and around the world. Noh actor Yasuda Noboru offers a uniquely personal and accessible introduction to noh as living art. Read our review.
6. Every Human Intention: Japan in the New Century, by Dreux Richard
In Every Human Intention, (Pantheon, Feb. 2021) Dreux Richard presents post-Fukushima Japan in three illustrative parts, in areas where the consequences of national policy are felt: immigration, population decline, and the nuclear industry.
7. Buddhism and Modernity: Sources from Nineteenth-Century Japan Edited by Orion Klautau and Hans Martin Krämer
Buddhism and Modernity (University of Hawaii Press, Oct. 2021) offers original translations of key texts—many available for the first time in English—by central actors in Japan’s transition to the modern era, including the works of Inoue Enryō, Gesshō, Hara Tanzan, Shimaji Mokurai, Kiyozawa Manshi, Murakami Senshō, Tanaka Chigaku, and Shaku Sōen.
8. An I-Novel, by Minae Mizumura (transl. Juliet Winters Carpenter)
An I-Noveltells the story of two sisters while taking up urgent questions of identity, race, and language.
9. Eating Wild Japan by Winifred Bird
In Eating Wild Japan (Stone Bridge Press March, 2021) Winifred Bird eats her way from one end of the country to the other in search of the hidden stories of Japan’s wild foods, the people who pick them, and the places whose histories they’ve shaped
“You know what Hana, women are the cause of all the problems in life,” Taiki said to his Siamese kitten. “They fulfill every desire in your heart and soul and then they disappear. My mother left me when I was a teenager, never to be seen again, and my wife died after thirty years of marriage. You’re nearly as bad as them. I should have chosen your brother instead of you when I bought you from the pet shop. You’re always ignoring me.”
Hana turned her head away from Taiki and stretched out on the tatami flooring.
“See, you don’t want anything to do with me. It’s because you’re female. I feed and brush you every day but you don’t appreciate it. You still ruin my furniture. You don’t care about me at all.”
Taiki leaned over to the dresser and pulled a new microfibre cloth from the bottom drawer. He began to lightly polish the brass teapot he’d bought that morning in Kappabashi Kitchen Town. Its ornate etching and floral design had caught his eye when he was looking for a cheese grater in one of the many small shops in the area. It had cost 5,000 yen and he’d hesitated to buy it but the sales assistant had told him it was rare, a good purchase, and reasonably priced. After ten minutes of indecision, he’d bought it along with the grater. Returning home on the train, he’d berated himself several times under his breath for spending too much money.
Taiki sat cross-legged, warming his toes under his kotatsu heated table. The grandfather clock chimed and Hana suddenly jumped up. She crept towards Taiki and sat on the cushion next to him. Taiki looked down at her big blue eyes that changed colour in the light. Depending on the time of day, they were pale and iridescent or a pretty indigo hue, much like the hydrangeas that blossomed in the rainy season, beautifying the street leading up to his home.
He reached over and caressed his kitten’s back. “Okay, I forgive you. You don’t always ignore me and you can be very sweet sometimes.”
Hana purred and Taiki stroked her forehead.
“I bought this teapot hoping you don’t scratch it. Look at this apartment, Hana. It’s practically bare. If I buy anything expensive it always gets ruined. Either an earthquake will smash it or your claws will tear it to pieces and I’ll have to throw it away. All my wife’s precious belongings have been destroyed.”
Hana rubbed her head against Taiki’s right hand.
“Sachiko used to love shopping before her breast cancer took over her life. She filled this apartment with lots of trinkets but now they’re all gone.”
Hana turned her head to one side.
“I know you’re looking around too, aren’t you Hana? You can see I have nothing of value.”
Hana looked back and put her paw on his arm.
“Well, of course you’re important. I hate being alone. I’m lucky you’re here with me. Please don’t ever leave me, Hana.”
Taiki reached over to the plastic bag on his left and took out a tin of brass polish. He began rubbing the spout of the teapot with renewed vigour.
“I wish I could find another woman to love me as much as Sachiko did,” said Taiki, rubbing even harder.
A few puffs of lilac smoke spat from the spout of the teapot and dissipated into the air. A thicker purple cloud emerged. It cleared in just a few seconds to reveal a young and attractive Persian girl with exotic features.
Taiki squinted, blinked three times, and looked up, mouth wide open. Hana sat up in a crouched position. Her eyes were alert. Now a shade of periwinkle. She raised her right paw in the air as the last of the purple haze disappeared.
The Middle Eastern girl looked at Taiki and his cat. Her large almond-shaped eyes were gentle and soft, despite the heavy black eye-liner. She was scantily dressed in pale pink harem pants and a silver crop top. A transparent silk veil covered her mouth and nose. This vision of loveliness fell to her knees and bowed before Taiki until her forehead was almost on the floor.
“Your wish is my command, dear sir,” she said.
“Please stand up again and stop bowing on the floor,” said Taiki. “Where did you come from? How did you get into my apartment? Who are you?”
“You’ve released me from the teapot. I can grant you three wishes.”
“Are you lost? Why are you dressed like that? Is that some kind of cosplay costume?” Taiki asked, sitting down opposite her again.
“No, these are the clothes I wear when I want to relax,” she replied. “Thank you for rescuing me from the teapot. I’ve been in there for three weeks. I know it doesn’t sound like a long time but it’s nowhere near as comfortable as the lamp in which I usually like to rest. About a month ago, we moved to Japan. My husband’s best friend lured me into this teapot and trapped me after an argument. I had no idea if or when someone would come and free me. Allow me to grant you three wishes and then I can return to the naval base in Yokosuka, where I live with my mortal husband.”
“Three wishes! You’re joking,” said Taiki, shaking his head and laughing. He reached over to pick up Hana.
“I’m serious, what would you like? Have you ever wanted to travel to a faraway destination? I can take you there. You can even take your gorgeous little kitten. Do you want to live in a mansion and have millions of yen? I can arrange that too. Are you Buddhist? I can help you reach enlightenment. Just tell me your three wishes. I’ll grant them and then I’ll be on my way.”
“No thanks, I’m fine,” said Taiki crouching in the corner of the room, holding his kitten tightly in his arms. “What’s your name?”
“Roshanak,” she replied.
Hana squirmed and struggled and Taiki released her. The kitten ran over to Roshanak and began rubbing up against her leg.
“My name’s Taiki. I’m surprised you can speak Japanese so fluently, Roshanak. That’s very impressive.”
“Thank you. I can speak many languages.”
“I see, but you’re too young and attractive to be in Tokyo wandering into middle-aged men’s apartments dressed like that,” said Taiki, trying hard not to stare at her ample cleavage. Her voluminous black hair fell in curls all the way down to the waistband on her harem pants. Her piercing ocean-tinted blue eyes were wide and innocent looking. She was slim but also curvaceous.
“Run along home to wherever you live. Would you like to borrow one of my coats so you don’t attract attention or catch a cold?”
“But I still haven’t granted you three wishes.”
Taiki sensing her determination, decided to take a different approach.
“I’m sorry, you can’t stay here but I have an idea. I’ll buy you a cup of tea at the coffee house on the corner and after that I want you to go home.”
Roshanak raised both hands in the air and clicked her fingers twice. In an instant, she’d changed into a tight beige t-shirt and faded denim jeans.
“I think you’ll agree, these clothes are much more appropriate for an outing to a coffee shop,” she said.
Taiki fell sideways onto the floor and let out a small scream. He pointed his trembling index finger at her. “Are you a witch?”
“No, I’m just a regular genie. Now you’ve mentioned it, I’m a bit parched. Let’s go and get some coffee. I’m happy to drink anything but tea. All I’ve smelt for weeks is matcha in that teapot so that’s the last thing I want right now.”
Roshanak cupped Hana’s chin in her dainty left hand and gave her a kiss on the forehead before jumping up to grab Taiki’s keys from the table. “Don’t be so surprised. Surely, you’ve heard of genies. Let’s go!”
Taiki shook his head, said goodbye to Hana, and followed Roshanak to the door. Putting on his shoes and grabbing his bag, he thought to himself he must be in some sort of dream. He smiled as he put on his coat, happy to go along with it.
“Gosh, it’s a bit cold outside but the air smells so fresh and crisp, the sky above is such a striking blue colour, and it’s so nice to see people again,” said Roshanak, stretching her arms in the air as she accompanied Taiki along the street outside his apartment. “It was so humid and cramped in that tiny teapot.”
She clicked her fingers twice and, in a nanosecond, she was wearing a cream trench coat.
“You can’t perform magic in public with other people around. You’ll scare them,” said Taiki, looking around frantically. He was relieved to see no one had noticed them.
“Sorry, you’re right. I’ve been cooped up in that teapot for a few weeks. I’ve forgotten my manners and the genie rules my mother impressed upon me.”
The warm lights of Tully’s Coffee shop on the corner of the street welcomed them on that chilly afternoon in the final week in March. Taiki held the door open for Roshanak. They stepped into the entrance where they were greeted by a friendly woman in her forties, dressed in a white shirt, black trousers, and a long brown apron. She smiled but looked surprised when she noticed Taiki wasn’t alone.
“Welcome back Taiki. I can see you’ve brought a friend along with you today. Hi, my name is Michiko. Nice to meet you.”
“Hi Michiko, I’m Roshanak. What a lovely coffee shop!”
“This is my . . . um. . . brother’s wife,” stuttered Taiki. His face went red. He hated lying but there was no way he could explain the truth in this situation.
Michiko led them to the sitting area at the back. “Here’s your usual table, Taiki. I’ll be with you in a moment to take your order.” She gave both of them another brilliant smile and bowed before heading to the counter.
“What a sweet lady,” said Roshanak. “And she knows your name. Are you friends?”
“I’ve been coming here once or twice a week for three years. I know all the staff members.”
Michiko returned and Roshanak ordered a mocha coffee. She didn’t have to ask Taiki what he wanted. He always ordered drip coffee, no milk, no sugar.
“Let’s talk about those wishes. What would you like? I want to grant you at least one wish,” said Roshanak.
“I told you. I don’t need anything,” said Taiki.
“But that’s what I do. Every mortal I’ve ever met has always wanted their three wishes.”
“Please don’t perform any more magic, especially in here. And forget about the three wishes. I’ve already had too many shocks today.”
Michiko returned with their drinks. She smiled warmly at Taiki as she set his coffee down. “I haven’t seen you for nearly a week. I’ve been wondering if you’re okay.”
“I’m all right,” he replied. “I took on some extra shifts at work so I haven’t had much spare time over the past few days.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ve also been very busy with your brother’s wife visiting. Where are you from?” Michiko asked Roshanak.
“I’m originally from Arabia but I’m living with my husband in Yokosuka for the next few months. We’ve only been in Japan for a short time.”
“You’ve come a long way. Is this a day trip to Tokyo?”
“That depends on Taiki. I’ve asked him —.”
“— Yes, it’s a day trip,” said Taiki. He stopped Roshanak from mentioning the three wishes. “I can assure you; she won’t be staying overnight in Tokyo.”
Michiko left them to attend to other customers and Roshanak turned her attention to a toddler who was sitting with his mother at the next table. She was showing him how to make origami paper cranes. The little boy picked up one his mother had just made and threw it towards Roshanak. She reached out as it glided in the air towards her. It landed on the palm of her right hand.
“Thanks for the pretty yellow bird,” said Roshanak, smiling at the boy. He beamed back at her.
She examined the origami, turning it around and admiring it. “How did they make this? Maybe that woman is a genie as well. I’ve never seen this sort of magic. I’ll introduce myself. We could be cousins.”
“That’s not magic and there’s no need to speak to the boy’s mother. I’ll show you how to make one,” said Taiki. He took out a square sheet of paper from his bag and slowly folded it, meeting each corner perfectly. He handed his white crane to Roshanak. She clapped her hands, delighted she now had two.
“Let me try,” Roshanak said. Taiki handed her another piece of paper and she tried to follow his folding instructions. He watched her carefully as he sipped his coffee. It took her ten minutes to make it and it looked okay but not as good as the cranes made by Taiki or the little boy’s mother.
“Gosh, that takes some practice. It’s more difficult than I thought,” said Roshanak. “But I’ll keep trying. That was fun.”
“Your self-confidence and carefree attitude are impressive,” said Taiki. “You don’t show any frustration when you want to accomplish something. You’re willing to learn something new and at the same time, you’re not afraid to make mistakes.”
Roshanak blushed, “Have you thought of your first wish?”
“No, as I said before, I don’t want or need anything right now.”
“That’s strange,” she replied.
“If you’ve been trapped in that teapot, you probably haven’t had a chance to see the cherry blossoms,” said Taiki. “Would you like to go and have a look at them? Ueno Park is quite close to here. We can walk there now if you’ve finished your coffee.”
“That sounds wonderful,” she said, taking a final sip of her drink.
Michiko came over to their table. “Did you enjoy your mocha coffee, Roshanak?”
“Yes, thanks. We’re going to see the cherry blossoms in Ueno Park now.”
“What a great idea,” said Michiko. “I haven’t seen them this year.”
“Why don’t you come with us?” Roshanak asked her.
“Michiko is working. I’m sure she’s too busy,” said Taiki.
Michiko looked at her watch. “Actually, I finish work at 2:30 in about five minutes. If it’s all right with you, I’d love to go.”
“That’s fine with me. We’ll all go together,” said Taiki. He watched Michiko skip back to the counter and noticed how pretty she was for the first time.
Twenty minutes later, they were surrounded by the abundant cherry blossoms in Ueno Park. Thousands of delicate white and pink petals were perched on robust overhanging branches.
Large groups of workers or friends were sitting on blue tarpaulins in their socks. Their shoes were lined up neatly on the sides. Laughter and cheering could be heard as beer and plum wine were poured into plastic cups. Sushi, sandwiches, fried chicken, and other snacks were being shared from pre-prepared bento boxes.
Lovers were riding boats shaped like swans on Shinobazu Pond. Young girls in colourful kimonos were taking selfies in front of Ueno Toshugu Shrine.
“Cherry blossoms are Japan’s favourite flower,” Michiko explained to Roshanak. “They’re only here for a couple of weeks before they fall and the wind sweeps them away. They remind us that life is short and should be appreciated.”
“A bit like me,” whispered Roshanak in Taiki’s ear. “Genies come and go in a puff of purple smoke!”
He laughed but hesitated a few seconds later, pausing for a moment of self-reflection. Roshanak nudged him in the back, pushing him forward so he had to stroll alongside Michiko.
“I need to go out and enjoy myself more often. I’m having a terrific time,” said Taiki.
“I agree, it’s like you’ve been leading a monk-like existence!” said Michiko.
“Pass me your phone, Taiki,” said Roshanak. “I’ll take a photo of you and Michiko under the cherry blossoms.”
Roshanak took his phone and held it up. “Move closer together so I can get both of you in the picture.”
Taiki and Michiko nervously sidled up to one another, eyes twinkling. They were close but they still kept themselves a couple of inches apart. Roshanak took several photos and passed the phone back.
“Why don’t I take a photo of you and send it to you later?” Taiki said to Roshanak but she ignored him, pointing to a food stall.
“What are those dough balls?” Roshanak asked.
“They’re takoyaki octopus balls. A Japanese snack deep-fried in batter, filled with diced octopus. They’re covered in brown sauce, mayonnaise, and bonito flakes. Would you like to try them?”
“Yes, please,” Roshanak said.
They joined the line in front of the food stall and Taiki took out his wallet ready to pay.
“I’m not very hungry,” said Michiko. “Would you like to share mine?”
“Absolutely,” Taiki replied.
He bought six takoyaki for Roshanak and six for him to share with Michiko.
“Careful, they’re hot when you first take a bite,” Taiki warned the ladies.
Roshanak blew on the takoyaki balls to cool them down. After nibbling on the first, she wolfed down the other five and licked her lips with satisfaction.
The sun was beginning to go down and brightly coloured LED lights came on to illuminate the cherry blossoms, giving them an ethereal glow as the darkness descended.
“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” said Roshanak.
“Cherry blossom viewing is a sight to behold but don’t you need to get back to Yokosuka tonight? Your husband will be worried about you,” said Michiko.
“You’re right,” said Roshanak.
Michiko stepped to the left a few metres away to take some final photos of the blossoms and Roshanak pulled Taiki to one side.
“We have a rule in my family I must abide,” the genie said to him. “You taught me how to make an origami paper crane and you brought me here to see these delightful cherry blossoms. You also introduced me to those delicious takoyaki octopus balls. You’ve granted me three wishes I never knew I wanted and I thoroughly enjoyed all three but you haven’t asked for anything all day. My family’s rule is to leave you be if you have a pure heart and you want for nothing. You may not have the powers of a genie but you possess a certain type of natural magic I could never achieve in a thousand years. You’ve been incredibly considerate and selfless and it has enriched my heart. Thank you for being so kind. May all the goodness in the world be bestowed upon you. Now, I must leave and return to my husband.”
Taiki and Michiko accompanied Roshanak to Ueno Station where they said their goodbyes with smiles on their lips but tears in their eyes. Roshanak was looking forward to clicking her fingers and returning to Yokosuka but she hesitated for a moment. She wanted to watch her two friends disappear under the cherry blossoms. She could hear them making plans as they walked away.
“Would you like a cup of tea at my apartment? I have a new teapot I’d like to show you,” said Taiki.
“Oh, I’d love a cup of green tea. You know, you’ve talked about your Siamese kitten so many times but I’ve never met her,” Michiko replied with the enthusiasm of a woman falling in love. “I can’t wait to meet Hana.”
Nick Bradley masterfully weaves together seemingly disparate threads to conjure up a vivid tapestry of Tokyo; its glory, its shame, its characters, and a calico cat. -—David Peace
I first encountered Nick Bradley in the University of East Anglia campus pub in 2015. We were both studying creative writing and a lecturer had suggested we meet because our area of interest—Japan—was, he stated, somewhat specialized. It was felt that we could use each other’s support.
He was right. At our first meeting Nick was feeling disgruntled. He had just workshopped a new chapter and had been ‘critiqued’ for placing a Japanese elementary schoolboy on a subway train alone. That was implausible, the other students had decided. This raises two issues for an author writing about a foreign culture. Firstly, that they may have their expertise questioned in a way that a native author will not. Secondly, that they may face challenges in describing an alien culture to readers who may never have visited but who may hold definite views and expectations of it. We discussed these and other topics after the publication of his debut novel, The Cat and The City.
SKB: The Cat and The City is a series of interconnected short stories about an odd assortment of people living their day-to-day lives in Tokyo and observed in a variety of ways by a stray cat. What was the thinking behind that?
Bradley: In an abstract way, the book is about connections, relationships, family and duty. For me, the whole idea of having a connected novel which shows how disparate characters brush up against each other is linked to the idea of connection itself, and how some families or friendships can fall apart while others stay together.
SKB: Was it important that the book is set in Japan?
Bradley: It wasn’t that the book had to be set in Japan, I suppose it was set in Japan because of my life experience. I think it could have been set elsewhere, in another city. But one of the ideas that kickstarted the book was that when I was living in Tokyo and commuting the same route every day, I would see the same people and I would often wonder about their backstories, their lives, and where they were going. And on a day when I didn’t see one of them, I would wonder what had happened to them. And when I stopped commuting, I often wondered whether any of those people who used to see me every day would think, ‘Oh, where’s that foreign guy who used to walk down this road every day at this time?’ I think that was the beginning of the idea of connections that drives the novel. I suppose if I were to link it to Japan it would be the idea of en [縁] as in ‘connection’ or ‘fate.’ The book does tie in with concepts in Japan but then I think a lot of things examined in it are universal.
SKB: You lived in Japan for many years. When did you first arrive and why did you choose Japan?
Bradley: I first moved to Japan in the mid-2000s on the Japan Exchange and Teaching Programme (JET) after I’d completed a master’s degree in English literature at Oxford University. I was based in Hiroshima prefecture in a small fishing town called Itozaki. Early on in JET, a group of guys went out to an izakaya, mostly Americans and a couple of British and Australians. We were all sitting round the table and someone asked the question, “Why did you come to Japan?” I said I didn’t know anything about Japan but I came here because I wanted to be a writer. And that kind of started a domino effect where everyone at the table said, “I want to be a writer, I want to be a writer.” It was about eight guys and all of us were closet writers.
SKB: What is the attraction of Japan for potential novelists?
Author Nick Bradley
Bradley: In my case, I think I would have gone anywhere in the world. I wanted to go anywhere different or anywhere that I thought was going to be different. It doesn’t surprise me that people who want to write are the same sort of people who will drop everything and leave their lives and go somewhere new. It is probably the desire to experience life and to see things from a different perspective. When you think about writing fiction, it is the act of trying to empathize with a different perspective to your own. That’s the very nature of novelistic writing, trying to create characters who are different to the way that you personally think and feel. So it would be natural that in order to get that empathy you would try to maneuver yourself in the world, to see different things and to speak to different kinds of people.
SKB: You were on the JET Program for four years and you became fluent in Japanese. That led to you becoming a translator for Honda in the UK and then Nintendo in Germany. And then you returned to Japan to work for JTB. Where did you begin writing The Cat and the City?
To be really specific it was in 2015 just after I’d had my first workshop on the MA. But ever since I was in my teens I was constantly having an idea for a novel. I would start it and I would get about 20,000 words in and I would just stop. I had so many false starts. For my first workshop at UEA I presented something completely mad and different which was a science-fiction cult story that wasn’t set in Japan. And then I wanted to write a short story about going to a festival (‘Omatsuri’ in The Cat and The City) and the cat was an integral part of it. After I’d written it I thought I could do lots of these and I could connect them all. So that was the beginning of The Cat and The City.
SKB: I’m surprised. Wouldn’t you have found it easier to write it in Japan?
Bradley: I found it much easier to write about Japan having left the country. I worked on a couple of novels when I was living in Tokyo and I sent one to a friend who had never even visited but she said, “It just doesn’t feel like Japan.” The problem with that particular book was that I was trying to write a novel about a foreigner who lives in Japan but everything seems normal to him. I realized that wasn’t going to work for English-speaking readers. I found that the stuff I wrote in Japan was a bit mundane, a bit boring. When I came on the MA I didn’t want to write about Japan but, funnily enough, I think a homesickness for Japan kicked in and I started to really miss lots of things about the place. And I think that helped me to write the book because my memories were coming back to me like mad. I was thinking about all these things that I used to do and that spurred on the direction of the book.
SKB: I recall you had some problems workshopping some of those early chapters.
Bradley: Some of the things that are realistic about Japan, people in the UK didn’t believe them. The perfect example of that was the idea of a Tokyo elementary school kid riding the subway. But that’s completely normal and people who’ve lived in Japan or been there will have seen it and would understand that. But some of the very mundane elements of the books, people would question. I don’t know if they were questioning my knowledge of Japan or just the realism of a young boy taking the subway by himself. I don’t blame the people workshopping the piece – they meant well and were asking great questions. But at times it felt hard trying to convince people of what Japan is really like.
SKB: This must have made you realize that some western readers may not know so much about Japanese culture. Did this affect how you wrote the book? And your idea of who you were writing it for?
Bradley: Yes, completely. But ironically, this also ended up being the kind of motivating factor for writing the book. I started to think that there was a real need to write a book which portrayed the Tokyo I knew – the outsider’s view of the society, from the inside. Like the cat in my book I spent a lot of time viewing Japanese companies, culture, and society from the inside. I often felt an affinity towards the cats who silently watched the goings on of the big city. I love reading Japanese literature, and I read a great deal of it, but I always get a sense that Japanese writers ignore what to them is mundane, but to non-Japanese people is extremely interesting. So I can say for sure that I wrote this book not just for those non-Japanese who are already familiar with the country but also as a kind of gateway drug for non-Japanese who are interested in getting to know the country (and its literature) better.
SKB: Is there any advantage to writing about Japan as a foreigner?
The English edition will be available in Japan Aug. 1, 2021
Bradley: I think Japanese writers have to be careful about what they say because they’ll be criticized for certain things. In my position I can write about certain elements without any fear of criticism. For example, the book Tokyo Ueno Station which is about a homeless guy living in Ueno Park in the lead up to the Olympics, I don’t think it’s surprising that the person who wrote that was Yu Miri who is a Zainichi Korean. I think she’s already a marginalized person in Japan and that affords her a slight freedom because she can write about grittier or darker elements of Japanese society without fear of being criticized.
I have freedom in being a non-Japanese writer writing about Japan that is not afforded to a lot of Japanese writers who have to be far subtler than I am. I was quite heavy handed with some of the things that I was writing about. Natsume Sōseki’s I am a Cat is subtle because the criticism of Meiji society comes from a comical cat and it’s very difficult to get angry with this cat. I think Sōseki was very clever to use this cat as a kawaii decoy who you can’t get angry at, even though the cat is making fun of people and being silly itself.
SKB: In what ways has living in Japan affected your writing style?
Bradley: Before I moved to Japan I think my writing style was convoluted and overly complicated. I don’t know how much of that was due to the fact that I was a brash dude in his early twenties but one thing Japan did for me was it simplified my sentences when I was writing prose. For which I am ever in its debt. I think the act of having to learn Japanese from scratch and being forced to work with a limited vocabulary but learning to use it effectively, that actually helped me with my writing. Because it started to make me think that simplicity is sometimes the best way to convey powerful emotions. The act of writing fiction is not necessarily the display of a prolix style. It’s trying to convey emotions through simple language. And I think the act of moving to Japan and learning Japanese taught me that skill in writing.
SKB: Most of the characters in your novel are Japanese. In what language did you hear them speak?
Bradley: My characters very much spoke to me in Japanese and I translated what they were saying into English. In earlier works, I translated to a more literal extent but for this I tried to make it sound like a more natural translation. Certain characters I would translate into American English and others into British English. So even though their dialogue was based in Japanese I was creatively translating it into the ‘feel’ that I wanted it to have. Post-Second World War, the American influence on Japan has been massive and the English that students learn in schools is American English. You only have to read a Murakami novel to get a sense of that American influence. So for the office worker in my ‘Street Fighter II’ story, an American English accent suits him better because he is a young guy and contemporary Japan has more in common with America than it does with Britain. The detective, Ishikawa, I wanted him to sound like a ‘Chandleresque’, hard-boiled detective, so obviously American English worked better for that too. Other characters spoke with a British accent. It suited them to be more British and old-fashioned. So the homeless guy, Ohashi, I translated his Japanese in my head into a British accent.
SKB: There are a lot of Japanese words in there too. How did you decide which words to translate and which words to keep in Japanese?
Bradley: I did have rule for myself that, other than the Japanese dialogue, any Japanese words that I’ve used, if someone were to go to Wikipedia and type those words in there would be a thorough entry in English which would explain that word or concept to them.
SKB: Halfway through the novel a manga cartoon appears. What was the thinking behind that?
Bradley: I wrote this story where it cut to dialogue only and then, after workshopping the piece, I started to think about how that dialogue could go straight into a manga. And it was one of the most satisfying things. It was quite tough, the collaboration process, but I’m really happy with how it came out. Mariko Aruga is a British-Japanese illustrator with a nice fusion of British and Japanese sensibilities in art. One of the things I like about her work is that it has a quirky crossover feel, that looks like it could have been drawn by a very talented child. [In the story ‘Hikikomoro, Futoko and Neko’, the manga is meant to be the work of Kensuke, a high school student.]
SKB: Why are all the stories connected by a cat?
Bradley: In the western parts of Tokyo where I lived, every time I tried to write a street scene there was always a cat in it. And in all the photos I used to take of those neighborhoods there were always cats. The number of stray cats in Tokyo made it impossible to not put a cat in there. There were so many of them roaming the alleyways.
But also, all the Japanese literature that I have been reading ever since I moved to Japan in 2006, so much of it has cats in it or cats who are a key theme. So it was the reality of Tokyo and how many cats there are, plus an established convention in Japanese literature that involves cats.
And then the reason I thought cats were good was because I think—and lots of animal theorists have said this—animals tend to provide a mirror or reflection of humans. So especially for writers, when you write in a cat you’re really mirroring the interiority of the characters in your book. Characters express their inner feelings through their attitude towards the cat. So the cat becomes a living, silent set of eyes that can go anywhere and see anything and can be party to all these dramas but it’s not really taking part in them. It’s like a third person narrator.
SKB: Why is your cat a calico cat?
Bradley: The narrator of Sōseki’s I am a Cat is a ‘mike neko’ [三毛猫] which translates as tortoiseshell or calico, so I wanted to make my cat calico as a nod to Sōseki.
SKB: Will your next novel be set in Japan?
Bradley: I think I might be one of those writers who doesn’t like to talk about their next project, so I’ll keep quiet about this one for now. All I will say is that having finished my PhD, I’m glad I can immerse myself in writing fiction again. It really brings me so much pleasure.
The Cat and the City (Atlantic Books, May, 2020) is available in hardback and e-book versions. The paperback will be out in Japan in August, 2021.
About the Author:
Nick Bradley is a graduate of the UEA Creative Writing MA who holds a PhD in Creative & Critical Writing, focusing on the figure of the cat in Japanese literature. The Cat and the City is his first novel.
About the Interviewer:
Visit Dr. Susan Karen Burton’s website or follow her on Twitter (@drskburton)
At Books on Asia, we’ve been working hard behind the scenes and are now ready to announce our new sponsor for our podcast! Most of our readers will be familiar with Stone Bridge Press, publisher of fine books about Asia since 1989. In addition to their expertise in publishing, Stone Bridge Press brings their technical expertise to the podcast thus, you’ll notice an immediate improvement to the sound quality, editing and overall production. They’ve also made it possible to subscribe to the podcast from your favorite channels here. You can also subscribe direct from the Stone Bridge Press website and, while you’re there, sign up for their newsletter to receive all their upcoming book release news and notices of podcast episodes.
Subscribe to The Books on Asia Podcast and check out the first seven including Haruki Murakami translator Lena Baibikov, Tokyo Kill author Barry Lancet, and Ghost of the Tsunami author Richard Lloyd Parry. Upcoming podcast interviewees include Alex Kerr, Robert Whiting and Janine Beichman (poetry).
Stone Bridge Press has been publishing fine books on Asia for over 30 years.
A rising China and receding America has Japan once again focused on the confluence of the Pacific and Indian Oceans. Yet the recent Free and Open Indo-Pacific (FOIP) vision — to promote a new regional security environment anchored by India, Australia, Japan, and the United States — is in stark contrast to Japan’s previous, and successful, “southward advance” described in Taizo Miyagi’s highly rated Japan’s Quest for Stability in Southeast Asia: Navigating the Turning Points in Postwar Asia.
In this book, the author recounts how Japan navigated independence movements and revolutions in Southeast Asia during a fractious postwar period. Outside powers continued to pursue their own agendas in Southeast Asia: the U.S. was deeply involved in Vietnam, the U.K. was busy mitigating the fallout of a series of independence movements, and China was striving to be the vanguard of communist revolution in Asia. Among these competitors was Japan, a former colonizer itself, who had a strong interest in “depoliticizing” Asia for the purposes of nation-building and economic development.
The book opens at Bandung in 1955, at the first Asian–African Conference, which saw the attendance of twenty-nine new nations and not a single Western country. The remarkable event was “permeated by an overwhelming energy that emanated from the aspirations for independence.” It was also the first international event that Japan attended after its defeat in the Second World War. At Bandung, Japan faced a stark choice about its own future: continue following its Western path, or choose the East. The author shows how Japan developed a “national mission” to act as a bridge between the two, and proceeds for most of the book covering the decade between the Bandung Conference and the overthrow of Sukarno in 1965, which marked the end of the Indonesia–Malaysia confrontation.
Indonesia is the major supporting character in the book. Japan targeted the “anchor of maritime Asia” and the biggest country in the region for partnership, encouraged by the US who thought the combination of Japan’s industry and Indonesia’s resources could rebuild both economies without any cost to itself. It worked, and Indonesia has been a key partner for Japan to this day. In 2020, newly minted prime minister Yoshihide Suga made Jakarta his first official foreign visit.
Miyagi relies principally on diplomatic documents, some only recently declassified, to give a blow-by-blow account of Japan’s attempts to influence the situation in Southeast Asia. Originally a bunkobon, or trade paperback, Japan’s Quest for Stability in Southeast Asia is a short book written in conversational style using rhetorical questions to lead the reader forward. Despite this, it is not a particularly easy read. The commentary spans a number of countries and events and Miyagi has no space to fill the reader in on each and every event. It will help to have refreshed your background knowledge of postwar events like the Indonesian War of Independence, “Britain’s Vietnam,” and the Borneo Confrontation before reading. Although difficult, it is rewarding. Miyagi binds disparate stories, punctuated by the occasional Easter egg (Zhou Enlai asked Japan to help develop simplified Chinese characters!?), like a comic book crossover or the season finale of a Netflix miniseries.
Japan’s Quest for Stability in Southeast Asia is an instructive lesson in engagement. Although geographically at the center of the newly conceived Indo-Pacific region, Southeast Asia is being sidelined by outsider visions. Countries in the region would rather not build ideological walls to constrain China at the behest of outside powers. Based on the good relationships it has built over the decades, Japan is in a valuable position to work with Southeast Asian countries again in the face of rising tensions with China. Japan now has a new choice: continue building bridges, or choose walls.
Set in both the present day and the 1950s, Ana Johns’s compelling debut novel with well-developed characters will appeal to readers who enjoy light commercial fiction. Naoko, a young Japanese girl, falls in love with an American sailor much to her parents’ disapproval. When her family discovers she’s pregnant the story takes on a much more serious tone, disentangling a plot that is truly shocking. Years later, Tori, the American daughter of the sailor, learns from her dying father that she’s connected to Japan in ways she never expected so this protagonist travels to Tokyo to learn more about her family’s history. The two timelines fuse together when Tori unravels the past, making emotional connections that keep the reader riveted.
Johns is an accomplished writer and it’s easy to see why this book is so popular. But if the reader is familiar with Japanese society, history, language and customs they’ll notice some chapters sweep over important and deeper issues. There’s also a problem with the dialogue. The Japanese characters’ speech is continuously punctuated with well-known Japanese proverbs making them appear wise and profound but most Japanese people don’t speak like this.
This book is loosely based on a true story and Johns’ own family and it’s a hell of a ride but Naoko’s character comes across as naïve and her actions sometimes appear improbable. Would a young Japanese lady from a good family really be so willing to give up her privileged lifestyle to live amongst the burakumin outcasts, even for love? Would she have been so quickly accepted by those who were considered the lowest level of the Japanese social system? Would a Shinto wedding have been financially possible for her, considering the choices she makes?
The fact The Eugenic Protection Law is mentioned in the ‘Author’s Note,’ but not explored in more detail, gives the writing less traction and makes light of the situation in Japan in the 1950s. This may have been deliberate on the part of the author and the publisher; the truth would have watered down the romance. The book fully covers the topic of abortion but skims over society’s opinion of “blood-mixing”. It was a hot topic in those days and the prohibition of American men marrying Japanese women as part of this Eugenic Law was a subject on everyone’s lips, including the press, teachers, and social activists. If it had been examined in more detail, it could have deepened Naoko’s character and the story would have been more authentic.
The writing style and characterization are on the most part excellent and a joy to read:
“He would trust Grandmother, as a woman, to know best. She has created a lie with more than feet; it has sprouted scandalous wings and flown beyond my forgiving reach. To imagine, my father knows otherwise is the foot of a lighthouse. Dark.” (pg. 208)
The birth scene is also very touching and beautifully written. The Japanese culture and language take decades to decipher so Johns has done a remarkable job as a novice to write this book.
Overall, this story is well-worth reading. Johns’ command of the English language proves she’ll continue to be a successful writer and a rising star in the world of commercial fiction.
The Hōjōki, written in 1212 by the Buddhist monk Kamo no Chōmei, is one of the most beloved works of medieval literature in Japan. The opening lines of his chronicle are familiar to most Japanese people:
The flow of the river never ceases
And the water never stays the same.
Bubbles float on the surface of pools,
Bursting, reforming, never lingering.
They’re like the people in the world and their dwellings.
Japanese Buddhist literature is filled with the struggle to overcome the pain of transience. There is no escape, as we all know, for bad luck is an equal-opportunity act.
In a country that is no stranger to calamities, the late 12th century was particularly rough. Devastating earthquakes and fires, windstorms and famine were exacerbated by continued political upheaval and violent battles in the streets. Chōmei watched as the capital of Kyoto was rocked by a mega-earthquake, in which “mountains crumbled, filling rivers with rubble,” and then later as disease and famine meant “starved bodies lay strewn about the street…” Horrified by the suffering and anguish of this broken world, he decided to leave the capital and take up a life of contemplation in the mountains. For, as the great literati of China before him knew all too well, when the going gets tough, the wise head for the hills!
Eight hundred years later, as we are facing our own calamities in the form of a worldwide pandemic and endless political instability, historian Matthew Stavros, an academic at the University of Sydney and former director of the Kyoto Consortium of Japanese studies, has just released a new translation of this Japanese classic.
The Hōjōki has already been translated several times, notably by Burton Watson in his book Four Huts, published by Shambhala in 1994. This edition contains four famous works by Buddhist recluses, including Bai Juyi (or Po Chü-i), Matsuo Bashō and Yoshishige no Yasutane as well as beautiful brush paintings by artist Stephen Addiss. Another prominent translation from the 1990s was by Kyoto-based translators Yasuhiko Moriguchi and David Jenkins. Stavros’ new translation is marked by the literary quality of his English. Choosing to render Chōmei’s prose into verse, the English is lyrical and sounds beautiful when read aloud (there is a wonderful narration by MG Miller on Audible). The text is complemented by photographs of Kyoto taken by the author.
Opening the pages of the Chronicle, readers journey along with Chōmei, the sixty year-old Buddhist monk, as he leaves his privileged life of rank in the capital and builds his very simple hut “deep in the hills of Hino”. In contrast to the endless string of calamities that filled the pages of the first part of his book, the second section details the great pleasure he takes in his new home:
In the spring,
Wisteria flowers bloom like purple clouds in the west.
In summer,
The chattering cuckoos guide me,
Toward the mountain pass of death.
On autumn evenings,
The cries of cicadas fill my ears,
Lamenting this empty husk of a world.
And when the winter comes,
Snow covers the earth.
The book gets its name from Hōjō 方丈, an architectural term representing one square jō 丈—about ten-foot square. This word, conveying a small, cell-like space, is also used to describe a monk’s living quarters, especially in the Zen tradition. The hut is tiny, but somehow there is a living area, along the eastern wall in the form of his “dried bracken for a bed”. This bed is but a hand’s reach away from his musical instruments—his lute and koto—that sit beside a shelf holding his music and poetry, and a few books, “like Genshin’s The Essentials of Rebirth in the Pure Land”. This is the section of the hut assigned for the arts:
A little to the west,
There’s a shelf for offerings,
Not far from an icon of Amitabha.
When bathed in evening light
A warm glow emanates from Amitabha’s forehead.
And so, Chōmei—born to privilege and talent—gives it all up to become a Buddhist recluse in the Hills of Hino. And there, in his ten-foot square hut, he realizes that everything in the world comes down to the state of one’s mind. As he says, rendered so beautifully by Stavros:
Palaces and mansions:
If the heart is not at ease,
These worldly treasures bring no pleasure.
I love my lonely dwelling,
This simple, one-room hut.
About the reviewer
Leanne Ogasawara has worked as a translator from the Japanese for over twenty years. Her translation work has included academic translation, poetry, philosophy, and documentary film. Her book reviews have appeared in Kyoto Journal, the Dublin Review of Books, the New Rambler, and 3 Quarks Daily.
As part of our Books on Asia Top Books of 2020 series, we’re introducing our top picks one book at a time. For the whole list of 12 books, seeOur Reviewers Pick their Top Books for 2020.
Pankaj Mishra delivers a sweeping account of the intellectual history of anti-colonial thought in the early years of Western colonialism. He builds this narrative through mini-biographies of two lesser-known intellectuals: Jamāl al-Dīn al-Afghānī and Liang Qichao. These early thinkers diagnosed the challenge of Western imperialism faced by Asia. The evolution of their thought is influenced by historical milestones such as the Indian Rebellion of 1857, a failed uprising to gain independence from the West, and the 1905 Battle of Tsushima, where an Asian nation defeated a Western military power for the first time. Japan’s victory was a turning point for optimism in the oppressed Asian psyche, celebrated by anti-colonialists like Gandhi, Ataturk, and Tagore. Here was an Asian country beating the West at its own game.
This part of the nineteenth century was a cosmopolitan moment for Asia. The subjects of Mishra’s work were inveterate travellers, moving throughout the Islamic, Indian and East Asian worlds, contrasting Western political intellectuals who philosophized about Asia almost exclusively from the comfort of their overstuffed chairs. From the Ruins of Empire follows the above Asian intellectuals on their travels where they meet and influence a new generation of activists like Sun Yat Sen. The author also traces how their thinking on Pan-Asianism transforms—from initially advocating that Asian nations modernize by mimicking the West and adopting its scientific and industrial advancements—to expressing their horror at the First World War which turned them away from so-called “Western progress.” This frames the ultimate dilemma facing Asia in the book: to be more like the West (which is what Tsushima teaches) or to progress with Eastern alternatives which are more suited to the multi-ethnic, multi-religious reality of Asia, a form of modernization sans Westernization.
Despite the successful anti-colonial movements in the post-World War II era, the story Mishra tells is ultimately a tragic one. Asian nations may have won out over political colonialism, but they lost against intellectual colonialism. India and China are very adeptly wielding the power of centralized nation-states, effectively replacing the role previously filled by Western imperial overseers. The “South to South” dialogues of the intellectual network described by Mishra did go on to inspire later revolutionaries. Mishra makes these connections, showing for example how the ideas of al-Afghānī have been twisted into the narrative of political Islam.
This book originally came out in 2012 amidst the Arab Spring and Colour Revolutions. That time also saw a surge of revisionist histories of empire by writers like Niall Ferguson which helped to justify the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. From the Ruins of Empire demonstrates how people can be motivated by humiliation, and in it you can see the seeds of Mishra’s later book Age of Anger (2017) centering on the politics of ressentiment, so prevalent in our era.
Reading From the Ruins in Empire in 2020 I was amazed at some of the nearly 200-year-old critiques of the West. You could copy-and-paste them directly into today’s media. Mishra has done a brilliant job excavating these perspectives and tying them together with his usual smooth writing skill. The author offers no specific solutions, but reading about such intellectual journeys outside the standard one of “Western progress” is fascinating.
This was probably the most thought-provoking book I read this year. With the waning of liberalism and democracy described by Edward Luce in The Retreat of Western Liberalism, it feels like we are at another turning point. Discussions of what happens next are occurring worldwide, but what does the fall of liberal internationalism mean for Asia? What are the indigenous intellectual legacies that might fill the void? From the Ruins of Empire shows that there can be imagination outside the box of Western political thought, alternatives rooted in history, that are possibly more viable than completely new or alien systems.
